


We Are Born of Love

by ishtarelisheba



Series: Better to Face the Bullets 'verse [24]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Childbirth, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-09 13:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20995793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishtarelisheba/pseuds/ishtarelisheba
Summary: Or, Five First Times the Baby Was Held (And One Time the Baby Almost Wasn’t)A Better to Face the Bullets 'verse baby fic told in five snuggles.





	1. Belle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Prompt - _ladysibyl said: BtFtB prompt: When Neal’s talking to Belle’s stomach, I’d love to see a callback to chapter 105, where he assures Belle that he’d have enough love for the new baby. I’d also love to see Neal try to do a forehead touch to her stomach, copying the gesture of love he’s seen his papa and Belle do._]

The fire in the sitting room hearth crackled, the sound almost as comforting as its warmth. Days had officially turned cold. She was gladder than she’d expected to be on her leave of absence from the hospital when autumn’s chill set in for the year. 

A hiccup snuck up on her before she could quiet it. Almost as soon as she began showing, Belle had taken to a long round of hiccups after eating - a source of annoyance for her and amusement for her husband and son. Dinner was a couple of hours past, and still she felt full of Mrs. Potts’ Dublin coddle. She and the baby had grown so, she’d had to start spreading her napkin over her belly to keep from ruining her clothes.

Bedtime wasn’t far off. She looked forward to propping a pillow under her belly, having Rummond warm at her back. The fireplace in their bedroom was already going, the warmers beneath the sheets. Young Mary, attentive chamber maid that she was, would already have it seen to. Even at an interesting bit in her book, Belle couldn’t help thinking of pillows and covers and her husband’s arms around her.

The dog’s noisy yawn and plop onto his side next to her feet drew her eye. He had hovered around her all day, at her heels when she was up, at her side when she sat. Now mostly grown, he was no inconsiderable presence. She’d sat the lion’s share of the day to satisfy his herding. Her rest appeased Mrs. Potts’ fussing, as well.

Belle shifted on the sofa cushion, leaning into Rummond beside her in an attempt to alleviate the ache low in her back. Automatically, he met her to press a kiss to her cheek, and she hummed with contentment.

The pain had been visiting her through much of the day, on and off, and settled in just before they’d sat themselves down for dinner. Now it seemed to spread. Before she could say anything about it or excuse herself to go to bed, the dog was alert. He stood and dropped his chin onto her knee, giving a short whine.

“Frog? It’s all right.” She petted between his ears.

A deeper ache tightened around her back and belly. Belle grunted in surprise, her hand moving to the baby.

Rummond looked up from the watch parts catalogue he’d been busily circling things in with pencil. “Belle-”

“Mama?” Neal said from his drawing spot near the hearth.

She closed her book, setting it down next to her, reasoning herself into staying calm. If she lost her composure, Rummond and Neal would set off panicking, and she did not currently have the wherewithal to deal with all three of them in a fizz. Besides which, it was plenty near enough time, and they were well prepared. Only earlier in the day she’d been hoping that the baby would come soon.

“Rum,” she began softly. “I think…”

“Neal, fetch Mrs. Potts,” he said before she could finish, dropping his catalogue and pencil into the side of the sofa.

Understanding, Neal jumped up and ran. He yelled ahead of him, “Mrs. Potts! Mrs. Potts!”

“He’ll give her a fright,” Belle said, and perhaps her laugh was a bit nervous. She looked to her husband and found him with a struck expression. Lifting her hand to his cheek, she smiled and told him, “I’m okay. It’s just starting.”

He nodded, taking her hand to kiss the back of her fingers. “I know. We’re only getting everything ready, love.”

“I was so looking forward to going to sleep.” She sighed, rubbing the lower swell of her belly. 

Giving her a sympathetic look, Rummond pressed her hand between his own warm palms. “I’d say you have a fair few hours yet.”

Neal bolted back into the sitting room. “Mrs. Potts said she’s calling Mrs. DunBroch and then she’ll be _right_ here.”

“There, you see?” Belle said to her husband. “Elinor will be on her way soon.”

Their son, catching his breath, went to sit on the other side of her. He put his arms around her. “Do you know everybody loves you already?”

She found him speaking directly to her belly. Neal had developed a custom of occasional, fairly regular conversations with the baby, the likes of which she hoped she would continue to overhear for many years yet.

“A whole lot,” Neal went on, leaning to touch his forehead to her belly. She stroked over the back of his hair. “I can’t wait to meet you, and neither can Mama and Papa.”

Mrs. Potts and Dove could be heard well before they reached the sitting room. “She’ll not want to be picked up and carried,” Mrs. Potts said, sounding a bit prickly.

“I only mean to offer, don’t I.” Dove’s footsteps were audible. “I want to help where I can.”

She tutted. “There are _reasons_ men aren’t meant to have a hand in childbirth, Mr. Dove. You’ll find out.”

They walked in, and her demeanor softened completely. “Come along, dear, let’s get you to the bedroom,” she said in a voice that reminded Belle of her childhood and skinned knees and Mrs. Potts trying to make everything all right.

Dove hovered near the doorway while Rummond and Mrs. Potts pulled her to her feet. They got her moving slowly along, guiding from either side of her as though she might topple. 

“If I ever _do_ need carrying, I promise you’ll be my first call.” Belle smiled up at Dove, patting his arm on her way past him. “Would you call my father and let him know, please?”

“Grandpop is coming?” Neal asked, his excitement jumping a step higher.

Dove nodded and gave her a pleased smile in return. “Right away. Good luck, ma’am.”

It was a journey just a little down and across the hallway. Rummond stopped at the door with Neal while Mrs. Potts ushered her on inside.

“Why don’t you go into the library, duckling?” she heard him tell Neal gently. “I’ll keep you updated, hm? Grandpop will be in soon, and you can tell him all you know.”

While Mrs. Potts prepared the bed, Rummond helped Belle into a nightgown and took down her hair. He buttoned the few pearl buttons at the front and she lifted her hands to scratch her nails against the late evening scruff along the line of his jaw. For a moment, the worry in his features melted away in favor of absolute love. 

It was strange to think that, in a matter of hours, they would have their baby there with them. She’d felt it moving, growing, changing her, but there was some startling difference between all of that and the idea of soon holding her baby in her arms. She both ached for it and hoped that she was ready.

They had her tucked into bed and leaning on a pile of pillows by the time the midwife arrived perhaps half an hour later. After a quick check, Elinor confirmed that she was indeed in labor.

“You’ll do fine,” Elinor said, giving Belle’s knee a solid pat before moving off the bed. 

The midwife pulled the covers back up and launched into one of her favorite comfort strategies - regaling how she had given birth to triplets and, aside from the length of the entire ordeal, it had gone just swimmingly. To her credit, the tale usually helped. Belle had heard it three times now, and it truly did soothe her nerves about the matter.

Rummond sat on the edge next to her. He held her hand, rubbing slowly across the back of it with his thumb as they talked. The symmetry of their positions wasn’t lost on her.

Elinor busied, getting things ready. That aching, all-encompassing tension inside her came often. The pain wasn’t unbearable, but she knew it must have shown in her face because her husband’s worry sharpened with each contraction.

She had been afraid that Mrs. Potts and the midwife would make Rummond leave as soon as they’d everything prepared and settled. He stayed with her for a good six hours, however, holding onto her hand even when she closed her eyes in an attempt to rest before labor became harder and more wearing. He only stepped away to look in on Neal. Their son was eager for news the first time. She’d heard him ask, “Is the baby here?” from the door. On the second visit, he was curled up to sleep with Philippe squashed beneath him on the settee, and her father had fallen asleep in the armchair nearby.

The pains grew more intense, taking hold for longer periods. Elinor decided to check her again, and no sooner had the midwife drawn Belle’s nightgown over her knees than her waters broke. 

“I believe the time has come for Mr. Gold to leave,” Elinor said, looking from one to the other of them.

Rummond kissed her, touching his forehead briefly to her own. “I’m only a few feet away,” he promised before Mrs. Potts shooed him out and closed the library doors behind him.

It didn’t take terribly long for her husband to weary of waiting outside the room, and she knew when it happened. She could hear the quiet thump of Rummond’s cane when the circuit of his pacing took him near one of the bedroom doors. The familiar sound made her smile.

“Mrs. Potts?” she asked after a contraction that particularly took the breath out of her. “Go and tell Rum I’m all right, that everything’s going well?”

With a fond and patient expression, Mrs. Potts did so. She returned, as well, with the message that he loved her. “By the look of him, one would think _he_ were the one about to push out the babe.”

Belle’s eyes welled up with tears, overcome with love for her husband. She knew what worried him. “His mother died in childbirth,” she said quietly.

“For heaven’s sake.” For a moment, Mrs. Potts covered her face with a pudgy hand. “It would be nice if someone mentioned these things to me.”

She wished so that she could have Rummond with her. He would be a comfort to her. But Belle was also unsure how he might handle the situation when they arrived at the worst of it.

Elinor had her going to the washroom every once in a while to keep her bladder empty, and she found that walking helped to keep the discomfort between pains at bay. She walked around the bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed when she needed a rest, and the midwife had her lean on herself or Mrs. Potts when a contraction came if she were on her feet. Far more than once in her life, she’d known the state of being tired right through to her bones. This was an entirely new sort of exhaustion, and there didn’t seem to be an end in sight.

Dawn was well broken by the time the baby decided that it was as ready as everyone else. Elinor had Belle get back into bed and turn onto her left side, a leg resting on the midwife’s shoulder, and at last gave her permission to _push._

She groaned and cried out, making all the noise she needed to, and Elinor encouraged it. “If there’s any point in life a woman ought to feel bloody well entitled to raise up a fuss, it’s now, darling,” the midwife had informed her after she’d apologized for a pained shout.

The cycle of pain and pushing seemed to go on forever. Belle was beyond tired. She wanted to have the baby and have Rummond back with them. With the passing of the next contraction, she glanced to the mantle clock to find it had been little more than an hour since Elinor started her pushing, and she broke down in tears.

“Oh, lass, you’re so close!” Elinor reassured her. “Cry if you need to, but when you feel it again, push one more time for me, good and hard!”

Belle cried, unable to stop herself, but she pushed again when the midwife told her to. She sobbed and grit her teeth through the pain, squeezing Mrs. Potts’ hand for all she could.

After the contraction passed, Elinor looked up at her. “Give me your hand.”

Mrs. Potts let go and she held her hand out for the midwife. Elinor brought it far down to gently lay her fingertips against something, and it took her a moment to understand what she touched. The baby’s head. With a startled gasp, her tears stopped.

“That’s how close you are,” Elinor told her with a kind smile. “A few more pushes, Belle, and you’ll be holding it.”

Being able to touch the baby gave her new determination. She held onto Mrs. Potts’ hand, bearing down hard to push, shouting through the pain, and she would as many times as it took. 

The extreme relief that flooded through her when the baby was out took her by surprise. There was a silent instant, and she felt as though her heart stopped until her child cried. The sound brought a sobbed laugh from her - relief of a different sort. Early morning light still shone through her bedroom windows when the midwife placed the baby in her arms, pink and squalling, blood-streaked and the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.


	2. Rummond

He was terrified. There was no getting around it. With every sound of distress Belle made, an icy chill ran through him, making him dizzy with nerves.

Rummond went to the settee where Neal slept, touching his son’s head. The steadfast Frog lay on the floor right beside him, nose pointed at the doors and Belle. His father-in-law snored not inconsiderably in the chair nearby. Not surprising, considering it was after four in the morning.

He managed to stay in the library for only a few minutes after being shooed out before he took to walking, anxiety making him unable to keep still. The path he traced went from door to door of the bedroom, from library doors around to hallway door and back again. Moving made the twisting in his guts some measure more tolerable. He was doing nothing at all of use, but pacing seemed to fool his mind otherwise.

Mrs. Potts found him coming ’round the corner back toward the library. A flash of terror hit him before he registered her smile.

“Our girl is doing well,” Mrs. Potts told him, patting her hands over his fist where it grasped at the front of his waistcoat. “Everything is as it ought to be. She sent me out to tell you.”

He appreciated her assurances, but they didn’t much help to loosen the fear coiled around his insides. It only took a second. One mistake. One unforeseeable event. 

“Tell her I love her,” he said, trying for some semblance of a smile to send with his message.

Mrs. Potts gave his cheek a soft pat before turning to bustle away again.

He suffered interminable hours upon hours of waiting and fretting and imagining what might be going on beyond the bedroom doors. Dove remained nearby, and Eirlys was in and out of the library. In fact, he caught occasional sight of every member of their staff throughout the night - enough to tell him that no one in the house managed to retire.

The first rays of sunrise eked through the library windows. Millie jumped up from the kitchen stool she’d brought in to perch on, scurrying away to begin preparing breakfast in Mrs. Potts’ stead. Slowly, the rest of the staff began to excuse themselves for their morning tasks.

With daylight and an increase in sounds, Rummond’s pacing narrowed to the space in front of the library doors that led into the bedroom. She was all right. Mrs. Potts had promised. But Belle’s cries from beyond the doors did nothing to assuage his fear for her. 

It was just after eight when the first, wild cry of a newborn rang through the house. He froze in his steps, heart pounding. Rousing from sleep with wide eyes, Maurice pushed to his feet. Rummond couldn’t breathe until Mrs. Potts opened the door.

“They’re doing gloriously, both of them,” she said, and never a greater smile had he seen on her face.

Rummond sobbed, going so weak that he lost his grip on the handle of his cane. It was his father-in-law who steered him over to lean against the wall before he had a chance to follow his cane to the floor. He bent forward to brace his hands on his knees and Maurice gave him a set of encouraging claps to his back.

“Give us a few minutes and you can come in.” Mrs. Potts laid a hand on his shoulder. “We’re just doing the finishing up. I’ll fetch you.”

He looked to Neal, still sleeping with a soundness that only children found. All _was_ well. He tried to believe until he could see with his own eyes. 

Mrs. Potts returned to allow him in at right on a quarter of nine. “They’re still fine as can be,” she whispered as he eased past her.

There Belle sat, bolstered with pillows, in a fresh change of sheets and nightgown. Her face was flushed red and she was clearly at the very edge of exhaustion, but the happiness surrounding her was almost palpable. She held the baby against her shoulder.

“Rum,” she said with a deep sigh, and he saw relief in her that rivaled his own. “Come here, hold her.”

“Her?” He went to the bedside, beaming so broadly that his cheeks ached. 

Belle’s blue eyes sparkled with joy. “We’ve a daughter.”

“A daughter,” he breathed as she transferred the baby from her arms to his own. 

He stood there in awe - of Belle, of their little girl. Eyes closed, she turned her face toward him a bit, making a soft clicking sound. He hadn’t been able to make it in time for Neal’s birth, and never had he held a baby so new. She was so _small_ in his arms. 

Carefully, he sat next to his wife. “Rosalind,” he said, touching the baby’s cheek with a curled finger. She’d had something of a wiping off, not quite yet bathed. “That’s what we decided on? Rosalind Colette?”

Belle nodded, sinking down in the bed and looking as though she were fighting to keep her eyes open. She smiled sleepily up at him. “I think it fits. She looks like a Rosalind.”

He pushed his shoes off before bringing his feet onto the mattress, sliding down a bit, as well. With a lingering kiss to Belle’s temple, he rested his cheek against her hair. It took only moments for her breathing to tell him she’d fallen asleep.

Rummond settled their daughter more snugly in the bend of his arm. His anxiety subsided - gradually, gradually - now that he could see they were all right for himself, and he could feel the tiredness it left in its wake. 

He leaned back against the headboard of the bed and watched the baby. Her quick breaths, the tiny bow of her lips, the dusting of eyelashes and wisps of auburn hair. Her slight little hands, pink fingers spread wide and grasping. He grazed her palm with his finger, and her hand may as well have closed around his heart.


	3. Mrs. Potts

With a last look in on Belle and the baby, Mrs. DunBroch took her leave after lunch. Mrs. Potts would have no other way than to feed the midwife after all they owed her for helping to bring Belle safely through. For all her reassurances to Rummond, she’d had worries of her own.

She let them sleep. The night had been a long one, and they more than deserved a rest. Belle’s father made a quiet visit to see that Belle and his new grandchild were well, asking she be given the message that he would be ’round for dinner, and went home for a few hours of sleep that were a bit less vertical. After covering Neal with a blanket and drawing the library curtains, she tempted the dog away for food and outdoor time. The house settled down once more.

As for Mrs. Potts, herself, she kept a close eye on the family. Millie could handle the kitchen for the day, even if it meant having to sort everything out again tomorrow. 

She fiddled silently about the library, staying nearby, when she heard the baby begin to fret. Belle was pushing herself up to sit when she went in. Rummond slept with Rosalind on his chest, and Belle reached over to take her.

“Just me,” Belle whispered when he opened his eyes. “I’ve got her.”

He sat up with her, running his fingertips over the crown of the baby’s head. “Wet or hungry?”

“Not sure.” Belle opened the blanket, trying to peek into the diaper’s leg hole. The baby pulled her legs up, squirming, making her mother’s attempt at looking difficult.

Mrs. Potts stepped over, tilted the baby toward Belle’s chest, and gave the back of the diaper a little pat. “A bit more than wet, there. A soiled diaper feels different to a clean one. You’ll get a feel for it,” she said, then grinned and nodded to the baby. “And hungry, as well, the way she’s searching.”

Belle smiled at the way her daughter nuzzled against her breast. She opened the front of her nightgown, slipping the buttons through with her finger and thumb.

“I’ll change her when…” Rummond began, his attention taken as he watched them, enraptured.

Mrs. Potts waved a fussy hand at him. _“I’ll_ change her when they’re finished. You stay where you are. There’ll be more than enough diapers for you both.”

She stayed to see that Belle managed to get started. The midwife had helped in showing her how to settle the baby to nurse. After a few stumbles, Belle and Rosalind had found their footing. Mrs. Potts left to quickly fetch a tray of lunch, having made certain that Millie set plenty aside. Belle was still nursing when she returned. She placed the tray on the bedside table to wait.

Unlike some men to whom she would give no thought to their name, she never had a worry that Rummond would turn his nose up at a girlchild. There was never the first sign of him demanding either way what their baby would turn out. As far as she ever heard, his only hopes were that the baby be healthy. If she’d had a single doubt, the way he gazed at and petted Rosalind would have dashed it aside.

The baby made a sound of contentment upon unlatching from Belle’s breast. Mrs. Potts offered a hand first before reaching. “Here, let us see? I’ll give her a change and a bit of a washing up.”

Belle’s smile was still sleepy through and through. “Thank you, Mrs. Potts.”

While they had lunch, Mrs. Potts took the time to dote. She’d not held a baby since her grandson was one. Perhaps most babies looked much the same when so new, and perhaps it was her sentiment toward the parents that made her see more, but wee Rosalind was enchanting. The babe was as fey as her mother had been as a child. If Mrs. Potts hadn’t loved her already simply by virtue of being, the fact of that would have done her in.

She cleaned up the baby’s soiled diaper and gave her an ever-so-gentle bath with a soft cloth damped in warm water. Rosalind fussed a little, but being full and drowsing, didn’t work up to a cry. 

“What a good baby you are,” Mrs. Potts cooed to her, stroking the cloth over the top of her head. “I nigh upon raised your mother, you know. Here I am, wondering whose what you’ll inherit. Your mother’s cleverness? Her mischief? Mayhap your father’s reserve or bravery? Oh, they’re both daring enough, I expect you won’t be getting around that, will you?”

She took her time, letting Belle and Rummond eat unhurried, giving them a chance to breathe. The baby scrunched her face as Mrs. Potts covered a fingertip with the cloth to swipe carefully over her eyes and along the sides of her nose. 

“You don’t know how I look forward to watching you grow, as well, little rose,” she said softly to the baby, and found herself sniffling, getting teary. 

Mrs. Potts patted the baby dry to make certain she couldn’t catch a chill, diapered her, and swaddled her in a warm blanket. “Snug as a bug,” she said before taking her into the bedroom.

Belle and Rummond had eaten their way through perhaps half the food on the tray before succumbing to sleep once more. They lay facing one another, and he held her hand to his chest, both of them out like lights. 

Rather than wake them, Mrs. Potts turned to the cradle that had been next to the bed for months now, waiting for its little occupant. Making sure that it was turned to face properly away from the window, she settled Rosalind inside. She took the white lace blanket - proudly knit with her own two hands in the months after Belle told that she was expecting - from where it folded neatly on the side and draped it over the cradle’s carved canopy support to shield from the morning sun. The baby made the softest of snuffling sounds and a tiny whimper before opening her mouth in a yawn. 

“You had a long night, as well, didn’t you?” Mrs. Potts whispered, smiling down at her. “Now, you sleep while you can. You’ll have more adorers wanting a visit before long.”


	4. Neal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Prompt - _thedoctorsblogger said: and then after she has the baby, little Neal wanting to hold him. :)_ ]

“The baby-” Rummond sat up, half out of bed before he was fully awake. 

The trembling and rather impressive cry that wakened him came from Rosalind’s vicinity. Taking his cane from where it leant against his bedside table, he rounded the end of the bed to Belle’s side and leaned it again on her own. He lifted the baby from her cradle and swayed for a few moments, simply enjoying holding her. She began to calm somewhat.

“Is she all right?” Belle asked as she sat up, reaching behind her to rearrange pillows.

“Just now, I believe every cry means she wants you.” He smiled down at their daughter. 

She laughed, opening her arms for Rosalind as he leaned to give the baby over. “For one thing in particular, perhaps.”

Rummond placed himself on the edge of the bed once more, rubbing at his face as though he could scrub the drowsiness away with his hands. He watched while Belle fed the baby, glad she didn’t seem bothered that he did. 

“Sweetheart, why don’t you go and wake Neal?” she suggested when the baby had finished. “He should meet his sister.”

With a quick kiss, he took his cane, padding out into the library in sock feet. Neal slept on his stomach, one arm hanging off the side of the settee. His face rested on the teddy bear Belle had given him. Frog lay with his nose just beneath Neal’s dangling hand, awake and watchful, head lifting when Rummond stepped close.

“Neal,” he said quietly to wake his son. Neal turned his face to hide it in the teddy bear. “How would you like to meet your little sister?”

“Sister?” Neal murmured sleepily.

It took him a moment to react to the word. He pulled his hands under him, pushing up to sit on his knees. Neal rubbed his hands over his face and blinked up at his Papa.

“The baby’s here? I have a sister?” he asked.

Rummond ran a hand over his son’s hair, wild in all directions. “Do you want to go and see?”

The little boy’s brown eyes widened. He beamed. “I wanna meet her!”

“Let’s wash your face and get your teeth brushed first, hm?”

“I can do it fast!”

Neal took off at a run and Frog raised his head, giving a curious sound. Rummond squatted down to give the pup a kind word and a pat. “Stay, boy. You’ll meet her in time.”

Not five minutes gone, Neal came bolting back in, headed right for the bedroom door. His father caught him before he grabbed hold of the handle.

“Slowly,” his Papa told him. “Your Mama is tired, and the baby is brand new. You must be quiet and gentle with them.”

“Slow and quiet and gentle,” Neal echoed, nodding. He visibly calmed himself.

Rummond opened the doors and let them in. At the bedside, he picked his son up, sitting him down next to his Mama.

“I missed you!” Neal said to her, leaning against her side.

Belle kissed the top of his head, smiling at the intensity of his declaration. “I missed you, too, darling.”

Craning his neck a bit, he looked over at the baby, his mouth falling open in awe. 

“Here, stretch your legs out together. You can hold her,” she said, adjusting the baby in her arms so that she could move her.

He sat up straight and did as she said. She placed the baby on his lap, on top of the loose swaddling blanket.

“She’s so little,” Neal whispered, appearing a bit frightened. He kept his hands clasped together up close to his chest.

“Her name is Rosalind. You remember us talking about names?” Belle put an arm around him, giving him a squeeze against her side. “It’s okay to touch her.”

Tentatively, he played with her feet, touching her toes with his fingertips. He held her hands, delighted when she grabbed hold of his fingers. _So_ cautiously, he reached out to touch her cheeks, and she brought her hands up, doing her best to fit her fingers into her mouth

“Is she sleepy?” Neal asked when she yawned.

“Her tummy is full. She’s sleepy the way you are after a big dinner,” Belle told him. “Babies eat often and sleep often, so that’s the majority of what she’ll be doing for a few months.”

Neal hummed. “I’ll tell Chip he’s wrong. He says all babies do is cry.”

She grinned, quite able to imagine the things Christopher said. “She’ll cry a great deal, too, for a while. It’s how she tells us that she needs something.”

He seemed to think about that for a while as he gave the baby his fingers to grab onto again. “It’s okay to cry when you need to. Mama and Papa tell me that,” he said to his sister. “Sometimes everything around is too big and you just have to cry.”

Belle glanced to her husband and found him pressing his lips together in order not to smile too broadly. “That’s right,” she told their son. “Very good advice.”

Neal leaned forward, and upon realizing that he wouldn’t be able to reach, he kissed his fingers to touch them to Rosalind’s cheek. “I love you,” he said, pronouncing the sentiment clearly, as though it might make the words easier for her to understand.

Belle couldn’t help pressing another kiss to the top of his head. She’d wondered whether jealousy would be an issue with a new baby in the house, but it didn’t appear so. Not thus far, at least. Her heart felt too big to fit behind her ribcage, watching the pair of them together.

“How long until she can talk?” Neal asked, looking up at his Mama. “I have questions.”


	5. Dove

It was early evening, nearing time for dinner, when Dove approached the library again. Young master Neal sat in the window seat, playing with a handful of tin motorcars, providing a mixture of traffic sounds and conversation for himself.

“Mr. Dove!” Neal chirped. He rolled aside his toys and slid down from the spot to trot across the room. “Did you hear? I have a sister!”

“I heard,” Dove said, outstretching a hand to muss the boy’s hair. “I’ve heard she’s the prettiest, cleverest sister a brother might hope for, haven’t I?”

“Did you?” Looking up at him, Neal smiled brightly. 

Dove gave a rather theatrical nod. “I did!”

“Have you seen her?”

“Not as yet. Was about to make myself an attempt.”

“I got to hold her,” Neal boasted, still clearly proud. “You have to be careful and gentle and quiet, though, ’cause she’s new.”

“I’ll be ever so,” Dove promised.

He knocked lightly at the bedroom door. Neal reached up to hold his hand - his first two fingers, really - and waited with him. Rummond appeared a bit ruffled when he answered, but through it he brimmed with happiness. 

Beyond him, Belle nodded encouragingly and beckoned to Dove with one hand. “Come in, come in.”

Dove stepped inside. All day, he’d wanted to go and see the baby, but he was reluctant to disturb them.

“I wondered if I might hold her?” he asked almost bashfully.

Letting go of his hand, Neal went over to climb up next to Belle. “Mama, can I hold Rosalind again after Mr. Dove?”

“I think you should eat dinner first. Then you can,” she told Neal, lifting her free hand to cradle beneath his chin.

Neal all but turned to sugar under his mother’s close attention. “I’ll even eat all my greens.”

_That_ would be a test of resolve, Dove figured. He happened to know that Mrs. Potts had decided to prepare aubergine with her braised chicken tonight - the one vegetable Neal found that he simply could not enjoy, though the child wouldn’t tell Mrs. Potts so.

Belle dropped a kiss on the tip of Neal’s nose before saying to Dove, “Come here. You’re more than welcome to hold her.”

He stooped to reach down, taking the baby into his arms when Belle moved her to a position where he could. Standing up slowly so as not to startle her, he adjusted her to rest in the bend of one large arm. She seemed content there.

Dove knew they’d a nanny hired, though the woman hadn’t yet moved in. They wanted to spend the first while doing things themselves. He understood. They were sturdying themselves as a family. It was a fine choice they’d made there, in his own opinion.

“Precious wee bean, aren’t you,” he said, bouncing the baby gently.

He’d spent some time with the children Eirlys was nanny for in her previous position, joining her for the occasional outing with them. It never failed to make him come over a bit broody. The same feeling pressed against his breastbone now.

Dove smiled as the baby pulled a face. She make the smallest movements inside the binds of her snugly wrapped blanket and gave a fussy little grunt.

_“Melys fel blodyn tatws,”_ he murmured to Rosalind. “And pretty as one, as well.”

The opal engagement ring he’d had in his waistcoat pocket for two months suddenly began weighing more heavily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation for Dove's bit of Welsh:  
_melys fel blodyn tatws_  
(sweet as a potato flower)


	6. Maurice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Prompt - _shipperqueen93 requested Maurice saying 'chuffed' in regards to Belle's pregnancy._]

Belle encouraged Rummond to join her father and Neal in the dining room for dinner, knowing that they would all be in to visit afterward. She needed the hour or so it would occupy them for. Mrs. Potts braided her hair back while she ate her dinner from the tray Millie brought in. A nice bath was next in order. After convincing Mrs. Potts that she could manage it on her own, if she only had someone to watch Rosalind, she went to do just that.

Her bath was less relaxing than she anticipated. With the bathroom door ajar, every sound from the bedroom drew her attention. She hurried through, thinking twice before dusting herself with powder, not sure whether the baby might take issue with the scent while nursing. The box of bath powder went into her vanity drawer for the time being. Still feeling the need to move slowly, she pulled on the nightgown and dressing gown set out for her.

Rosalind was beginning to grow fussy when she went back in. “You see, there’s your Mama,” Mrs. Potts soothed.

“I was barely gone,” Belle said to her daughter, a singsong to her voice. “But I was gone, wasn’t I? Poor little love.”

She gathered Rosalind from the cradle and sat down on the bed, bringing her daughter up to her shoulder. Mrs. Potts stood back and watched fondly as she patted the baby’s diaper. She’d only just changed it before attempting her not-so-relaxing soak, so she was unsurprised to find it dry. Not sure whether the baby’s fussing was truly from missing her mother or out of hunger, Belle decided that another feeding before they received extra company wasn’t a bad idea either way. 

The wish that her mother could be there to know her family was a pang sharper than ever today. She was glad her father was still there to see them, but nothing could file the edge from that need. 

Her nightdress was buttoned up and she had Rosalind snugged close when a series of small knocks peppered at the door. Neal, of course, was first. She was certain he’d run from the table as soon as he was allowed. 

“Come in,” she said, and her son was through the door before she finished speaking. 

Neal’s actual approach was careful. He stood at her knee, leaning to look at the baby. “Are you sleepy again? I’m kind of getting sleepy, too.”

Rummond pushed the door open wider to step inside, and her father followed a moment later with what looked a great deal like a nervous smile.

“Everything all right?” her husband asked, leaning over Neal to set eyes on their daughter and give Belle a kiss.

She smiled at his concern and kiss both. “We’re right as rain. I ate and had a bath, and Rosalind’s just had her own dinner.”

“I ate everything on my plate,” Neal said, then pulled a pained face before whispering, “Even the ob- ob- obber-”

“Oh, dear. Aubergine?” Belle laughed softly.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he nodded. “All of it.”

“You did so well, keeping your word,” she praised, putting an arm around him and pulling him closer for a hug. “Neal, would you consider letting Grandpop hold her first? He hasn’t had a chance yet.”

He looked to his grandfather. “Okay, he can hold her. But me after?”

“Oh, no, no,” Maurice began, lingering near the door. “Let the boy hold his sister. I can wait.”

Her father had been tickled pink when they told him that they were expecting. “Chuffed to bits,” he’d said, his neck disappearing the way it did when he was particularly happy. Now she regarded him curiously.

“It’s okay, you can hold her, Grandpop,” Neal said.

Still Maurice dithered. “Are you certain she doesn’t need changing?”

“Papa, what’s the matter?” Belle asked, curiosity moving into suspicion.

“The matter?” He gave a blustery wave of his hand. “Nothing at all.”

“Do you not want to hold her?”

“Well, I- I-”

She frowned a bit. “Papa?”

“She’s…” he hesitated.

“Papa,” she said more insistently, fixing him with a look.

“She’s a tiny thing,” he murmured, glancing to the baby in her arms. “Looks like you at that age.”

Belle shook her head. “If you don’t want to hold her-”

“It isn’t that I don’t want to, my dear.”

“Then what is it?”

Maurice stammered awkwardly before words made it from his mouth, though they came out so quickly and closely together that she had to take time to parse them. “I didn’t hold you ’til you were six months old because I feared I’d drop you!”

“Papa!” She laughed aloud. Neal stepped back as she moved to stand. “Rum, here, take her for a second.”

Belle gave Rosalind to her husband, then crossed the room to her father and took his arm. She steered him over to the rocking chair and, as she might have a child, she parked him there to hold his granddaughter. Clearly understanding what she was about, Rummond was right behind her.

“Keep your arm there under her head just so,” Rummond said, leaning down as she stepped aside. Gently, he placed the baby in his father-in-law’s arms. “She’s all bundled up, so there’s no worries she’ll squirm away.”

Keeping quite motionless, Maurice mumbled, “If I drop her, I’ll be flinging myself off Tower Bridge. Just so you know where to expect me.”

Rummond took a step back. “You won’t drop her.”

“You aren’t going to drop her, Papa,” Belle said. “You know how to hold a baby.”

Rosalind gave a whimper. Her grandfather visibly filled with apprehension all the way through, and she began to cry in earnest.

Maurice frowned, dismay creasing his entire face. “What am I doing wrong?”

“It’s nothing you’re _doing._ It’s that you’re tense as a bowstring, and she can feel that running through a person,” Rummond explained. “Try a bit of talking to her.”

Belle returned to her bedside, drawing Neal over to sit next to her, and allowed them sort this out. It was good for them, this cooperation. She watched her father search for something to say.

“Hello, Rosalind. I’m your Grandpop,” he introduced himself, holding the baby as though she might drop through his hands. “We’ll be seeing a great deal of one another, I imagine.”

It was a fine start, Belle decided, resting her chin on top of Neal’s head to hide her amusement.

**Author's Note:**

> (Takes place October 14, 1921.)


End file.
